James Delingpole: In defence of cocaine

‘Is anyone here even remotely shocked that Nigella Lawson has done cocaine?’ I asked. Everyone shook their heads. Well of course they did: it was the after-show drinks in the green room at a BBC studio. ‘So why is it being reported in the media as if it were some amazingly big deal?’

No one knew the answer to that one. Everyone present had either tried Class As or been to numerous parties where they were about the only ones there who hadn’t taken Class As. Yet here we were, gossiping about the latest revelations from the Nigella court case for all the world as if they mattered.

‘One Direction are infatuated with Nigella Lawson and paid her a million pounds to have a six-some with her, in a giant tub of her How To Eat classic pea risotto.’ That would be a good story.

‘Nigella has done so much charlie that she has developed a Daniella Westbrook-style mono-nostril, lost her sense of taste, and is now having to have a new septum built from Chinese baby extract.’ That would be tragic but grimly compulsive.

‘Nigella likes a spliff and occasionally does the odd line. But is ashamed at having done so.’ Sorry, that’s even worse than a non-story. It’s an anti-story, made even worse by mumsy newspaper columnists granting her absolution by noting that she’s sorry and she didn’t enjoy it, which apparently makes it all OK.

Does it? Really? And do the same rules apply to marital infidelity: ‘Sorry, darling, about that Kate Moss business, but you really needn’t worry — I loathed every moment’? Or murder? ‘My client wishes it to be noted in mitigation, your honour, that since the incident he has had sleepless nights and was so traumatised by his victim’s screams he fears he may never be able to use an axe again, not even to chop wood.